There's no Replacement
by Assassination
Summary: Altair wasn't sure how he felt about his doctor. The man was always late to meet him at the appointed time, always looked like a mess but his cheery mood seemed to make up for it in it's own way. Except today.


**Assassination's note:** Okay so...I've had a lot of angsty stuff tossed my way for a while and this was really a _spur of the moment_ writing session. Or impulsive. Whichever. Which means that OOCness may occur and all that stuff. One of my friends encouraged me to finish this when I was all, 'It looks awful.'

Let's see if it was worth it, shall we?  
Also: My memory as to what happens during a doctor's visit is kind of hazy, so forgive me for any inaccuracies and whatnot. And...cruddy drama, I guess.

* * *

He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about his doctor. Really, he wasn't.

After all, the man's first impression was rather..._unique_. Like, oh, say: snogging a nurse on an examination table, his hand up her shirt and whispering some nonsense that must've been 'sweet nothings.' Yes. Altair didn't approve of this happening right in front of him, in the room he was told to hobble into - and by 'hobble,' it meant that he had to use his crutches to get in there.

A month ago he'd been unfortunate enough to fall down some stairs on the third floor of a building they were remodeling. Resulting in a broken leg and a frustrated Syrian.

Again, he came to the conclusion he didn't like his doctor. The man was always fifteen minutes late, looking like a mess and that meant that Altair would be stuck in the same room with him longer than desired.

Altair was sitting in a chair near the table that the damn imbecile should have been sitting at, asking him pointless questions like, "Point to one of the faces on this chart to show how you feel." Damn smiley faces and numbers and he had the oddest feeling the man was making fun of him. Or trying to make him angry. Whichever it was, the injured Ibn La'Ahad didn't approve nor did he appreciate it.

He tightened his hold on his crutch.

Where was the idiot?

Honey eyes cast a glance to the clock that was ticking away, soon to have his jaw clench and lips turn downward into a scowl. If he had to wait another five minutes, he was going to get up, leave and drive home. Thank Allah it was his left leg that got broken.

He tapped his right foot a few times, listening to the '_tick, tock_' of the clock, eventually the taps against the floor matching the sound.

Another three minutes passed. A little more of his patience worn away.

Sure, his doctor was annoying and irritating beyond belief - that stupid, stupid cheerful smile and that damn lax attitude - but it wasn't to the point that Altair couldn't tolerate it. Except today. He was supposed to get home and take care of little Desmond, take him to a dentist appointment.

Why his mother had set that about an hour later after his own when he told her he might not be able to take him -

It wasn't like she dumped Desmond on him, it was just that Desmond wanted to spend his time off of school with his older brother.

A soft smile tugged at his lips at this before hearing the door open caught his attention, turning his head and about to snarl his greeting. Only to see that a nurse had popped her head in, eyes locked on him then scanning the room before returning to him. "Dr. Auditore still hasn't seen you yet, has he?" she questioned, looking about as annoyed as he felt. "How long have you been waiting?"

_Long enough to get a headache..._

"About eighteen minutes." was his response.

"Oh my." She pushed the door wide open and stepped in, name tag showing that her name was 'Maria Thorpe.' "I know that it's his job but..." The brunet made her way to the stool, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap once she spun to face him. "Have you been taking your medication twice a day like you should?"

Finally. Now he could get out of here. "Yes."

"Good." Nodding, Maria then looked thoughtful. "You haven't been doing anything stressful lately?"

"Besides waiting for the doctor? No." he sighed, raising his left hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She laughed, shaking her head a moment later. "I think every other patient knows your pain, Mr. Ibn La'Ahad."

"Is that so?" He rose a brow at this, the right side of his lips tugging up slightly. "Here I was under the impression that he rushed to patients who are women."

"I'm offended, _signore_."

Both of them glanced over to the door, Dr. Auditore standing there with his arms crossed and his expression one of hurt. As if trying to display how offended he was by the insult, though Altair was sure that it was just a play for the young woman.

Lowering his hand, the patient's lips were no longer up but rather down in a scowl once more. "Good afternoon."

The Italian must have sensed his displeasure since he turned his eyes away. "I'll take over from here, Ms. Thorpe."

Pushing to stand, she left the room after offering a smile to both men. Once Maria was gone, Dr. Auditore closed the door, looking down at the file in his hand as he made his way to the stool to sit on just as the nurse had. He set the folder down and flipped it open, reaching for his pen to click and swiveled to return his attention to Altair.

"Have you been -"

Altair cut him off, tone tinged with frustration. "I've been taking my medication and haven't done anything stressful." He turned his head to look at the man, golden eyes narrowed. "The pain is a zero but it's become a one because I had to wait for you longer than usual." The Syrian's hand tightened to the point his knuckles were starting to turn white. "A headache, if you want me to be more specific, doctor."

Now...he knew he shouldn't be taking anything out on the man - but he saw how mussed up his hair was, that little _hickey_ he's trying to hide under his coat, how his hairtie wasn't holding his hair properly. Dammit, he was tired of this man fooling around like everyone could wait and not give a damn about how long he took to get from one patient to the next.

"Altair -"

"I can walk just fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my brother to his appointment." Closing his eyes, the tanned man stood, leaning on his crutch just a tad for leverage. "I don't care what you do and frankly...I want a different doctor." He opened his eyes, glaring at the Italian who was staring at him with his mouth agape. Dumbfounded. "Have a nice day."

Altair, not waiting for a response, left. Though he could have sworn he'd heard Dr. Auditore slam his fist down on the table with a curse.

* * *

His little brother had done very well at the dentist, sat in the chair perfectly still with his mouth wide open as they checked to see how well he was taking care of his teeth. Though the boy was a little too smart for his own good because, once they got back in the car, Desmond asked him if the doctor had taken too long to get to him and if that's why his big brother was so angry.

Sometimes Altair felt that he should know better than to be around the 'emotion detector' when he's not calm.

He wasn't sure how to answer the boy so, with a soft exhale, he simply turned the car on and drove back home.

When they were inside the building, Altair moved over to the couch to then plop down on. Setting his crutch aside, the Syrian reached his hand up to tug the zipper to his hoodie down, gripping the separated flaps to slide the jacket off his shoulders. He then tugged the sleeves off and placed it beside him, watching Desmond sit down as well with remote in hand.

After an episode of House, which still confused Altair as to why Desmond liked that show, his brother looked over to him. Desmond didn't say anything, just stared at him with round chocolate irises. They almost reminded him of how his doctor's looked when he got excited and when he grinned and when he praised Altair for doing what he should -

Dammit. The elder turned his gaze elsewhere, brows furrowed. Now he felt guilty for snapping at the man. Just what he needed.

"Desmond, I'm fine." he grumbled, crossing his arms as he pursed his lips. "...my leg just hurts a little."

This had the younger perk up, as if feeling that this is something he could do something about. "Do you want me to get your meds? A hot pad?"

It was times like this where Altair both felt relieved and guilty that his little brother bought his lie.

* * *

When his next appointment had rolled around, the brunet could hardly believe that his doctor had come on time. Even more so when it _wasn't_ Dr. Auditore. After thirty minutes of this old man talking in such a bland tone, trickling on into forty-five minutes, Altair then realized that this wasn't possibly a stand-in for the time that his doctor was finishing up whatever he was doing.

He wondered if it was bad hoping that this was a joke and that the perky Italian would pop in and say, "_Salute_, Altair! Did you miss me?"

Once the appointment was over and the elderly doctor had stepped out, Altair continued to sit there, hands resting in his lap and staring down at the tiled flooring.

Had what he said really been that hurtful? It wasn't like he'd cursed the man out, told him to shove off and jump off a bridge -

He wondered if it was selfish that he wanted to take back all he'd said on his last visit. That he hadn't let his irritation take hold of him and unleash all his frustration on the man, even stepping so far as to saying he wanted another doctor. Altair felt his stomach twist into a knot.

There weren't going to be any more cheery smiles, no more soft, pleased, expressions, no more obnoxious praise...

The patient rose his right hand, rubbing his face as he blindly reached for his crutch.

No. It wasn't as if those little words of encouragement like, "Good job, Altair." for taking his pills at the times told and how many had made him feel this long process was worth it. Those stupid grins didn't make him feel like offering one up in return. Not at all. He didn't even appreciate the man's company -

The Syrian dropped his hand once he heard a '_clatter_,' seeing that he'd tipped over his support. Cursing in a low tone, Altair leaned forth to grab it and stood, tucking the object under his arm. When he turned to head out, his eyes widened once he saw Dr. Auditore standing there with a soft smile on his lips. He barely took note of the fact that the Italian's clothes and hair _weren't_ unkempt.

"_Salute_, Altair. You met Dr. McCarlson, _si_?"

All he could do was offer up a nod, averting his sights elsewhere. He could see that smile still out of his peripheral, that carefree smile tinged with a slight sadness. "I have." Altair noticed the smile morphing into a grin, questioning silently if it was forced or if it was genuine. "He's...interesting."

Inwardly, he snorted. _Interesting_? Most certainly _not_. The man didn't smile much, didn't look at him as if he were an individual - he wasn't like the man standing across from him now. No one was like him, there was no replacement.

"Ah, glad to hear that! _Bene_!" The doctor nodded firmly, hands sliding into his pockets. Tone cheery. "I just came here to say that I'm -"

Altair's teeth clenched, his hand tightening on the handle to his crutch. "No!"

He didn't want to hear another word. Didn't want to hear the other saying that he was never going to see him again. Goddammit! The injured man should be happy, overjoyed, inwardly dancing from joy that he'd never have to deal with Dr. Auditore ever again. Not have to wait forever to just answer a few questions, possibly have his leg checked and a pat on the back.

It seemed as if the Italian had noticed the tension swimming through his previous charge's system, slowly taking his hands out of his pockets and taking a tentative step towards Altair. "...Altair?"

"Don't say another word. Not _another word_." the Syrian ground out, closing his eyes. "...I don't want another doctor. There's no replacement for you."

After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and felt his face turn red with how close the other man had gotten. Especially that beaming smile that accompanied the joyous expression plastered on the doctor's face. "Really?" Dr. Auditore prodded, his voice showing just how happy he was to hear this. "You really mean that?" Before Altair could even respond, his chin was grabbed, a thumb running over his lower lip slowly. "Do you?"

Why the hell couldn't he form an answer? Why was all that he could do was stare into the other's eyes? What the -

"Altair." The Italian leaned in, his thumb ghosting along Altair's cheek. "Do you?"

Deciding that attempting to word his answer wasn't going to work, the injured man reached his right hand up to grab a fistful of his doctor's hair to pull him in the rest of the way.

* * *

**extra note:** I wanted a happy ending, okay? Is that so bad? ...I can't handle any more angst right now, so I couldn't make this sad for very long. I didn't want Altair to be sad!


End file.
